


No salutes (only silk stockings)

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Age of Sail, All the gold braid (and lace), Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, So much gold braid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: For the prompt: how about a Good Omens scene that goes with the ones from the start of episode 3, but it's Aziraphale and Crowley encountering each other on a ship during the age of sail?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	No salutes (only silk stockings)

The worst part was that the Captain of their ship was not just ready to die in the battle ahead, he was planning on it. After all, this was very likely to be his last battle and the pinnacle of his career. So, dying in the molten copper light of burning ships must have sounded like a good way to go.

So far, not one cannonball had torn apart their ship.

Crowley had been onboard for a week spending most of his time gambling with the crew and nudging absolutely everyone closer to chaos. Sailors, he figured, were already stuck on this floating wooden thing for months on end, they might as well have a little fun. He’d snuck on board just before they’d left harbor, having been told to cause trouble on this particular ship. He leaned against one of the masts, listening to all kinds of sailors on this huge ship talking about the battle ahead while they worked.

Most of them appeared to be feeling lucky that they were on a well-built ship, with plenty of well-trained people and good guns. The officers were clinging to their training and experience with their fingertips, constantly checking the horizon for enemy ships and glancing at their seniors with raw hope in their eyes.

And they’d need plenty of it to get through this alive.

Crowley looked up at the iron-grey clouds, already crackling with lighting. In a few hours, there would be the roar of canons overpowering the sound of the waves, wooden splinters everywhere and there’d be blood up to their ankles.

It should have delighted him, as a demon.

Instead he kept looking at the midshipmen, who couldn’t have been a day over twelve. Their faces were pale as the sails, their backs as straight as they would go. He’d spent most of his time below decks or sleeping, waiting for the action.

He’d seen too many battlefields in his life, waded through enough blood to know that there was no glory to be found there, only terrors and trauma. He’d have to stick close to them during the fight, especially if the ship got boarded.

Gritting his teeth, he looked up again.

Endless, endless tests. And always to destruction, edging towards the fucking end of the world. Well, he was still around, and he’d make damn sure that this ship would be totally untouched. Cannonballs would fly by, fireships would sink, the wind would be on their side-

“You are going to send them to their deaths?” a familiar voice asked, so sharp and cold that it cut through the air itself. “The only person ready for battle is the surgeon, who is sharpening his knives!”

Crowley inched closer, seeing Aziraphale on the quarterdeck.

All lace and gold braid, the angel had the look of a second son who’d paid for his position in the Navy instead of earning it. But that idea fled as soon as it had come. Crowley stared at the silk stockings and the three-cornered hat, none of which did anything to soften the fact that Aziraphale simply didn’t look human at the moment. Instead he looked _ancient_ and shrouded in divine wrath.

The diplomatic smile on the Captain’s face has fled, red blotches had appeared on his neck and his jaw was clenched.

The officers and crew were all watching, looking at an angel who could have set their ship alight with a flick of his wrist.

“I have my orders,” the Captain said, as if daring Aziraphale to defy the Admiralty itself.

“And I have mine,” Aziraphale said, cold and terrible as freshly fallen snow over a battlefield. There was the faintest rustle of wings and for a split second, Crowley could see the carpet of eyes all across Aziraphale’s form. “Believe me, I do.”

The scream of the waves against the ship quieted, the wind no longer sang about seagulls and hurricanes, every human being on board the ship went very quiet.

“I have orders too!” Crowley called out cheerfully, waving at Aziraphale.

“What?” the Captain asked, staring at Crowley.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, pulling himself together by shaking himself. “What are you doing here?”

“Working, like you!” Crowley said, climbing the stairs. “It’s been too long, angel.”

Most of the officers didn’t even blink. Instead some of them gave Crowley various discreet signs that he took to mean ranged from: ‘very good’ to ‘get it.’

Ah, yes.

This was why so many folks flocked to the Royal Navy. Stuck on a floating thing with hundreds of other people, they’d made their own rules to make it…bearable.

“Gentlemen-“ the Captain began, but stopped talking when Crowley snapped his fingers.

“Not gentle,” Crowley said. “Nor men. Technically speaking.”

The Captain hurried away towards his lieutenants, who proceeded to follow him around like baby geese after their mother. He started barking orders, stomping around so that even the ship’s rats started cleaning up the deck.

“Hm,” Aziraphale said, looking over at the sea. “It has been too long.”

“I bet that we can keep this ship nice and whole throughout the fight, if we do our best,” Crowley suggested, watching as the midshipmen and the cabin boy kept to themselves. “They can’t have these kids.”

Aziraphale looked over at them, at their sunburnt necks and too shiny eyes. And then over at all the people on board that were now watching them both.

“I thought you were supposed to secure souls for Hell?” Aziraphale asked, most of the words blown away by the gale.

“I’m here to make trouble,” Crowley said. “Not to kill children.”

“I was just told to get on the ship,” Aziraphale said, fidgeting with the lace that covered his wrists. “And there’s no sense in making the world a worse place for those in it…”

“That’s the spirit,” Crowley said, patting him on the back.

Aziraphale didn’t flinch away, nor did he lean into the touch. He didn’t even fidget or make worried sounds. Instead he stood perfectly still, far stiller than any human could ever be. And for anyone that saw it, all doubt about Aziraphale having been a soldier faded into thin air.

“You see ‘em?” Crowley asked, craning his neck. “None of your eyes got blinded in the Fall, so you gotta have better-“

“Two hours,” Aziraphale said. Gold blood visibly rushed through his veins underneath his pale skin, his hair appearing pearly white instead of just blonde. His hand brushed against Crowley’s hand and Crowley found himself narrowing his eyes at the horizon.

“Really?”

“Two and a half, perhaps,” Aziraphale said, swallowing. “The wind’s not in our favor.”

“We’re going to need a ton of miracles to get through this,” Crowley said, pulling a bottle of Madeira out of his pocket. He took a swing, not bothering to wipe the top before he handed it over to Aziraphale. “But on the bright side, you’ll save a ton of lives, angel.”

If their fingers brushed, no one else would ever know. Except Her, of course.

Crowley looked up, quietly demanding a bloody good explanation why there were fucking kids on board a ship-of-war headed for what would certainly be a massacre.

“So be it,” Aziraphale said, appearing to consider miracling himself a glass and deciding against it as the ship moved in weird ways. “Heaven can’t object to that.”

“They better not,” Crowley said as Aziraphale tensed, his stupid buckled shoes tapping on the wooden boards as the wind miraculously turned in their favor.

“Hm,” Aziraphale said, taking a sip of wine.

There was something in his voice that half-convinced Crowley that the angel would fight all the angels in Heaven if they got in his way. That was the way Crowley liked it. After all, he needed all the help he could get.


End file.
